Page 52 of The Unseen
“We still have contacts in Russia, and we also translate some of the articles from the London papers. Most of these people don’t have a solid enough grasp of the English language to read thepapers for themselves. And, of course, people are desperate for books since no Russian language books are sold in the shops.”
“That’s very clever of you,” Valentina said. “Very enterprising.”
The young man smiled, revealing straight white teeth. “Capitalism at its best.”
“I’m Valentina Kalinina, by the way.” Valentina held out her hand and the young man took it shyly.
“Stanislav Bistritzky.”
“Will you be back here next week? I didn’t bring my reticule with me, but I would like to buy a book.”
“You can just take it and pay me later. Or, if you have any books you’re finished with, you can bring me a book in exchange.”
“That’s very kind. I’ll take this one.” Valentina helped herself to a book of poems by Yesenin. Her mother would enjoy the poems, and perhaps Valentina would read them as well. She hadn’t thought to pack any books into her valise, and the lack of reading material had been difficult to deal with at a time when any distraction would have been welcome.
“Enjoy it. I love poetry. I tried writing some myself, but it’s rather maudlin, I must admit.”
“Perhaps you should publish it, since you have the means.”
“No, they are private. I’d be mortified if someone actually read them.”
“I’ve never written poetry, but I tried my hand at writing stories when I was younger,” Valentina confessed. “My parents liked them,” she added wistfully.
“You should try writing again. It helps deal with loss.”
“How do you know I’ve suffered a loss?” Valentina asked, surprised by his astute observation.
“Everyone who’s here has suffered loss, but I can also see the sadness in your eyes.”
“I lost my father and my fiancé,” Valentina said. She had no idea why she was telling this stranger, but something about him invited confidences.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Valentina walked away from the table when she saw Cousin Dmitri watching her. “I bought a book for Mama,” she explained. “Look, Mama, it’s poems by Yesenin.”
“Thank you, my darling. That was very thoughtful of you. I shall enjoy reading them, although I’m sure they’ll bring back some bittersweet memories.”
“What were you talking to him about?” Dmitri demanded as they walked to his motorcar.
“About his newspaper and where he gets his information.”
“The man is a charlatan,” Dmitri growled as he started the engine.
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s using the pain and suffering of others to line his own pockets.”
“I think he’s providing a valuable service,” Valentina replied.
“Is he? Then he should give out the books and papers for free.”
“Why? Other newspapers are not handed out for free. Everyone has a right to make a living, and he’s supplying an obvious demand. There wasn’t a single paper left by the time I left.”
“Yes, he and his brother have certainly found a convenient place to sell their wares. By the church, of all places.”
“Well, that’s where the émigrés congregate, isn’t it?” Valentina wasn’t sure why she was defending the young man, but she couldn’t understand why Dmitri was so incensed.
